473 lines
25 KiB
Plaintext
473 lines
25 KiB
Plaintext
You'd have to be really twisted to understand
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****************************************************************************
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____________________________________________________________________________
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***************************THE BACK ISSUES**********************************
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*************************EPISODES ONE TO FIVE*******************************
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(Written by Daniel Bowen, Monash University, Melbourne Australia)
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______________________________________________________________________________
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PART ONE - 12/8/90
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In the beginning was the writing. But it was dark, and no-one could read
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it, so the author decided to write the start again.
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In the beginning there was a light. But lo, the Lord did try the
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switch and it did not work. And so the Lord did say unto Adam: "Thou must
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travel down the 7-11 for a globe."
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And Adam did hear the Lord, and did do his bidding. The journey
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across the road was long, and dangerous, but Adam did walketh up to the
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traffic lights. And he did presseth the button, and lo! The traffic did
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part down the middle. And Adam did crosseth in peace.
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And Adam did enter the temple of 7-11, and he did consult the holy
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one, "Dost thou have a light-globe?" And lo! They were down the back on
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the bottom shelf. Adam did findeth the globes, and yea, he was shocked at
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the price, and there was a great wailing, and gnashing of teeth. But it
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was too early to go to the supermarket, for it was only the first day, and
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the Lord had not got round to creating them yet.
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So he did buyeth the amazing globe on plastic. And did he make the
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long trek back unto the place of the Lord, and the Lord did say "Thanks
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very much, but it was the fuse."
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But suddenly, there was darkness again, for the Lord had forgotten
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to pay the bill. And Adam did look to the heavens in despair, and walked
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down the corridor into another joke.
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The corridor was long, and full of hidden dangers. And as Adam
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continued down it, he realised, from looking at his new wrist-watch, that
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he was late for the next spoof. Adam, being a student of life, knew that
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it had to be set in a school. But what was happening to him? He looked up,
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and realised that the author was just trying to fill in time. He was using
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ADAM to link to the next stack of jokes! But when would the new spoof
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start?
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The author grinned, gazing into his word-processor. "Only another
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few lines to go", he thought, as he continued to type his glorious prose
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into the keyboard.
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Adam had come to a doorway. Not any old doorway though. This one
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had a door in it. Adam pulled the axe from his hither-to unwritten about
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knapsack, and broke the door down. Bursting into the room, he spotted his
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foe, and with one swing of his axe, took the man's head offffffffffJKRY&%"
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@@s:{}``}
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OH DEAR. THE AUTHOR SEEMS TO HAVE HAD HIS HEAD CUT-OFF BY A MAN WHO HAS
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JUST COME THROUGH THE DOOR. WHAT WILL HAPPEN NOW? IS IT REALLY THE END OF
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'THE TOXIC CUSTARD WORKSHOP FILES'? NOT ON YOUR LIFE MATEY. STAND-BY FOR
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THE SECOND INSTALLMENT... COMING SOON TO A MAINFRAME ACCOUNT NEAR YOU.
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______________________________________________________________________________
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Oh no, not another installment of
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____ __ ____ ___ __ __ __ __ __ __ _
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/ /__/ /_ / / / \/ / / / / / /_ / /_/ /_/ / \
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/ / / /__ / /__/ /\ / \__ \__ \_/ __/ / / / / \ /__/
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___ __ ___ __ __ __ __ __
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/ / / / / /_/ /_/ /__ /__/ / / /_/ /_ / / /_ /__
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/_/_/ /__/ / \ / \ ___/ / / /_/ / / / /__ /__ __/
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B Y - M R - L U X U R Y - Y A C H T - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
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P A R T - T W O - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 1 5 - A U G - 1 9 9 0
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Adam Cohen looked up. He could see the words "Part Two" scrawled
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across the wall. Obviously, the author (whom he had just killed), had
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regenerated. But it was worse. Now he was doing really crappy titles
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made out of back slashes.
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Adam made his way back out the door, into the corridor. He put
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his axe back into his bag, and walked round the corner to his maths
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class.
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* * *
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Mr. Stickleback stalked down the corridor. As he turned the
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corner, two uniformed students ran past him. He cleared his throat,
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and they immediately slowed to a brisk walk. Arriving at the door, he
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checked his tie, then burst into the room.
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Inside the room, the students were standing around, talking to
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one another. As their teacher came in, they began to move to their
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places.
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As if being pleased to have caught them not sitting, Stickleback
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shouted short loud orders. "Right! - Sit! Get your books out. Cohen,
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do up your tie properly." The students began to sit down at their
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desks, carefully balancing their books so that none fell off. Some
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stragglers failed to comply in time, and he screamed at them, as he
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always did. "Sit!!" The pupils began to think of the many other
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places they would prefer to be, as he spoke rapidly.
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"Now, before I begin the lesson I must reprimand you over your
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behaviour. While I realise that this is a co-educational
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establishment, you must realise that members of the contradictory
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gender sitting together is just not on. And I don't want to see it
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happening again.
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"Now!" he continued, "Homework. If I remember correctly it was to
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memorise Pi - that's the ratio of a circle's circumference to its
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diameter - to the 75th decimal place. Well now - who's done it? Well?
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Anyone?"
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Spadger, sitting near the back, was listening to this, and
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thinking, "Oh please God, don't let him ask me..."
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"What about Spadger?"
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Spadger stood up. "Err... no, sorry sir.", he said. "Thanks a
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lot," he thought silently.
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The teacher reacted to this. "'No sorry sir'?", he mimicked.
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"What do you mean, 'No sorry sir'? I'll give you 'no sorry sir'." He
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pointed to the door and sent Spadger out. "Report to the torture
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chamber, now!"
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The rejected student walked out of the room, shuffling his feet.
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Meanwhile, Mr. Stickleback continued at the same fast pace.
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"Now, in today's lesson, we shall be studying the use of calculus
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when using the wave harmonic theory of historical perception - and
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its applications in working out the brand of washing powder to buy.
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So in this way..."
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He was slowing down now, not really paying attention to what he
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was saying, moving stealthily towards one of the front desks; where
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one of the girls appeared to be sleeping; carrying his ever-present
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metre-long ruler.
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"... you can work out which breakfast cereal powder is - the -
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really - good - buy." He stopped, brought the ruler down loudly on
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the desk, and spoke quietly.
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"O'Donald? Are you listening?" There was no response. He spoke
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loudly now.
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"Come on girl - sit up! I - hello?" There was still no answer, so
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he bellowed.
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"Can - you - hear - me?!<21>Hello?!" As there was still no sign of
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life, he prodded her with the ruler, and came to a conclusion.
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"Oh. She's dead." He pointed the ruler at a couple of nearby
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unfortunates. "You and you, put her in the incinerator, will you?"
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They could not refuse.
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"Yes sir." With some difficulty, they carried the corpse out. The
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teacher called after them.
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"Oh, and you may as well go to the detention room afterwards. Now
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where was I?... Ah yes." He began to write various mathematical
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gobbledygook on the blackboard as he spoke.
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"Now, first we must realise how the ratio of the primary factor
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to the third sequential lobster in this random geometric sequence
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divided by that lobster there will result in the indexed logarithm of
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the quotient. Nod your heads." at this point, someone queried him.
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"Yes Hayes?"
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"Sir, what's lobster got to do with this problem?"
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"Lobster?! What are you talking about? Report to the guillotine.
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Now - where was that formula I was going to ... what was it", he
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pondered. By this time, the remaining students were looking
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completely bewildered.
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WHAT HAS MR. STICKLEBACK FORGOTTEN?
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WILL THE MATHS CLASS BE LIBERATED BEFORE LUNCHTIME?
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WILL THE WRITING OF THIS STUFF IMPROVE BY THE NEXT EPISODE?
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WILL THE FIRST WORD OF THE NEXT SENTENCE BEGIN WITH 'W'?
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NO.
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IS ANYBODY STILL READING THIS SHIT?
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WHAT'S THE POINT OF WRITING IT?
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WHAT IS THE MEANING OF LIFE?
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WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'FORTY-TWO'?
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WHY DOESN'T THIS THING FINISH?
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THE ANSWER TO ALL THESE QUESTIONS AND LESS...
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IN PART THREE... COMING UP AFTER THE NON-TEACHING WEEK
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______________________________________________________________________________
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Here's a double helping of
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___ ___ __ __
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| | | | | | |
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| H E | O X I C | U S T A R D | | | O R K S H O P |_ I L E S
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| | |__ |_|_| |
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_ ___
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|_| A R T | H R E E 2 7 / 8 / 9 0
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| |
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_ _ _
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| | | R I T T E N |_| Y | | | R . | U X U R Y - |_| A C H T
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|_|_| |__| | | | |_ |
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Rocket Roger whipped out his gun out, faster than a cheetah wearing
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"go-faster" stripes. In less time than it takes an ant to do a
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push-up, he had shot down the huge oncoming alien monster. He dashed
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over to the fallen figure of the princess, and put his hand firmly on
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her ... OH SORRY, WE SEEM TO HAVE PICKED UP THE WRONG PLOT-LINE. I
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THINK THIS BELONGS TO SOME POXY SPACE SAGA, SET WHEN MEN WERE REAL
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MEN ETC. ANYWAY, BACK TO THE STORY .... medical supplies. NO, NO THE
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TOXIC CUSTARD WORKSHOP FILES STORY. Oh sorry. Back to the maths
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class.
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Stickleback, obviously having forgotten what he was going to do,
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resorted to memory exercises at this point. He put his ruler on the
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desk, walked over to the blackboard, and hit his head violently
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against it several times. The pupils ceased to look bewildered and
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began to look bored. After a while Stickleback stopped, having
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remembered.
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"Ah yes. Now." He rubbed off the board, and started to write
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extremely complicated formulae, very messily, in the hand of one who
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is writing with a broken arm, all over the board. He stopped, looked
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casually over his shoulder and said quietly, "All right. Copy this
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down." Moving back to his enormous desk, he pressed a button on his
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stop-watch, and began timing thirty seconds on it. It was one of
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those really neat stop-watches which could tell you the time in
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twenty different places around the world, and, if you were lucky,
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where you were as well. Just another little labour-saving device,
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which could aid one in the enjoyment of life. His mind moved on to
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food, and that delicious lobster he had had the previous night.
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Meanwhile, the class were writing furiously into their notebooks.
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The thirty seconds was finally up. "Right - that's enough time",
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said the teacher.
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There was a protest. "But sir -". He shrugged it off.
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"Quiet! Another word from you and I'll have you all executed.
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Now!" Without another word, he rubbed the board off completely and
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began to write the numbers from one to ten, pausing and looking
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thoughtful between six and seven.
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"Right!" he continued. We're going to learn something new! This
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is a very complicated non-algebraic mathematical integral notation,
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which we shall learn sequentially, known as counting."
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"We've done this before", called out Cohen, a rather outspoken
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individual, a quality which never brought him good luck at school. He
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seemed to think he was special just because he had been in all the
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episodes of 'The Toxic Custard Workshop Files' so far.
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"Shut up!! You!" Stickleback was pointing. "Go and muck-out the
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principal's office!" Yet again Cohen was being kicked out of maths
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into another joke.
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Someone else joined in the protest. "But sir -"
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"You too! You're right - we've done this before - last week I
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believe. It doesn't matter though. We'll revise it. You start
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Bradley!"
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"One", replied the ever-keen Bradley, ready for any challenge.
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"Um... yes", confirmed the learned teacher, checking his notes.
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"Two", called out the next person.
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"Right"
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"Three"
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"Right. You next Heazlewood", said the teacher. But Heazlewood, a
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rather lazy student - and, in the circumstances, suicidal - had not
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been listening, something that Stickleback didn't particularly like.
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"What?"
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Stickleback, alert as ever, looked up. "I beg your pardon?", he
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said.
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"Sorry?", said Heazlewood, still wondering what was going on. By
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this time, however, Stickleback knew exactly what was going on, and
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reacted to it in his normal manner.
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"Do you mean you haven't been listening?!?" he screamed. "Get up!
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We've been doing a complex oral exercise, and you haven't been
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listening?!? You little ... I'll have you whipped for this!!! You
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stinking pile of ..." At this point, his words became rather
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obscured, as two men in white coats rushed in and grabbed him,
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managing to stuff something down his throat as one of them spoke.
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"All right Mr. Stickleback - it's time for your pills now."
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Within seconds, they had gone again, and Stickleback was left
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alone at the front of the room, feeling his throat. An odd-sounding
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grunt came from his throat, and then he was back to normal.
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"Erg... now! Heazlewood - out!"
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WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT?
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WILL THE PILLS STUFFED DOWN MR.STICKLEBACK'S THROAT CAUSE HIM TO CHOKE,
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GASP FOR BREATH AND COLLAPSE IN A HEAP ON THE FLOOR? OR WILL THE
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CHEMICALS IN THE PILLS CAUSE AN EMOTIONAL REACTION, CAUSING HIM TO
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VISIT A PSYCHIATRIST, WHICH IS ANOTHER JOKE ALTOGETHER. OR PERHAPS
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NOTHING LIKE THAT WILL HAPPEN.
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WELL, YOU'RE ABOUT TO FIND OUT ACTUALLY, BECAUSE THE AUTHOR, IN HIS
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EXTREMELY FINITE WISDOM, HAS DECIDED TO MAKE THIS A DOUBLE
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LENGTH T.C.W.F., TO MAKE UP FOR THE LOSS OF IT DURING THE NON
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TEACHING WEEK HERE AT MONASH.
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SO, ENOUGH OF THESE SUPERFLUOUS CAPITAL LETTERS. AND BACK TO
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THE DYNAMIC, ORIGINAL, REFRESHING AND EVER SO SILLY STORY.
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Mr Stickleback was in a minor carpet-eating rage by now. But he
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decided to save it for when the poor defenceless students wouldn't be
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expecting it. Kick them when they're down...
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He headed for his desk, picking a piece of paper on it. "I have a
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message from your English teacher, Mr. Maniac. He says that your
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homework is to memorise 'Macbeth' word for word. And you are to
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recite it to him tomorrow." Just then, he saw something in the corner
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of his eye. He pointed to it.
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"You! Using a calculator! Right - you can have lines tonight. I
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want you to write out 'I must not use a calculator in Maths' seven
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million times."
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"Now sir?" Stephens, the culprit asked.
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"No! Not now - do it at lunchtime. That'll give you plenty of
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time to..." At that point, he was interupted by a P.A. announcement.
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He turned to face the loud-speaker, stood rigidly before it and
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saluted. Static emanated, and a distant voice came forth. A telephone
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rang urgently in the background.
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"Err... announcements for tomorrow: Executions will be at dawn.
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Torture Group One at nine o'clock, and Torture Group Two at
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nine-thirty."
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When the announcement had finished, Stickleback relaxed. "Stand
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at ease", he said, as he began to pace around the room, only to be
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interupted by another announcement, at which he again saluted the
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loudspeaker.
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"Oh and Mr. Sadist, could you please return my horse-whip to me
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sometime today?"
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The teacher again relaxed. "Right you lot - get on with your
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work."
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The students all looked busy working, but Stickleback began to
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nod off. After all, he had had a long day, and was getting tired.
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Wouldn't the school run smoother, he thought, if it had no
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students...
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Two students, next to each other, noticed this, and one began to
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lean over to the other to say something. Suddenly the teacher's arm
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sprang up and pointed to the door. The hand connected to the arm
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clicked its fingers, and the first student left the room.
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Another teacher entered, and all the students instinctively rose.
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"Ah! Hello Mr. Ectoplasm."
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"Hello Mr. Stickleback. Just got a note for you", replied the
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visiting teacher.
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"Oh. Thank you."
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"Not at all Reg - Mr. Stickleback" he corrected himself. He left,
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and the students sat down again. Stickleback read the notice out to
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the class.
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"Class, I have just been notified of the time of the Nuclear
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Holocaust Drill. It will be", he paused, "Now!"
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A bell went off, and the students were all looking bewildered
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when Stickleback urged them into activity.
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"Hurry up, get on with it. Come on! You know - Nuclear Holocaust
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Drill!"
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The students were now getting into the spirit of the thing, and
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began to simulate dying, lurching around the room and eventually
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collapsing. The teacher went back to his huge desk.
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"Right. Now to call the roll. Bannikoff?" There was no answer.
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"Good. Bradley?" Again, the sound of silence.
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"Cummings? ... Good. Dandens? ... Good. Evans?"
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IS THIS THE END OF THE MATHS CLASS?
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'FRAID SO, THIS JOKE'S GOT RATHER TIRED NOW.
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WHAT TWISTED STORY-LINE WILL THE MANGLED MIND BEHIND
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THIS FARCE THINK OF NEXT?
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FIND OUT, IN PART FOUR OF 'THE TOXIC CUSTARD WORKSHOP FILES',
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COMING UP ON WEDNESDAY, 29TH AUGUST.
|
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||
BIBLIOGRAPHY:
|
||
If you've enjoyed reading this file, you may or may not enjoy
|
||
reading Diary'90, which is not available from the author unless you
|
||
plead with him.
|
||
|
||
FILMOGRAPHY:
|
||
If you've enjoyed this experience in reading, then you may enjoy
|
||
abusing your ears and eyes to the sight and sound of 'The Book Of
|
||
Diary 90', which is not available from anywhere near Alpha-Centauri.
|
||
|
||
DISCOGRAPHY:
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||
If you've enjoyed reading this file, you may also enjoy listening
|
||
to a floppy disk called "Double Sided High Density". You won't hear
|
||
much, but people will stare at you.
|
||
|
||
BOXOGRAPHY:
|
||
If you've found this to be an enriching and stimulating experience,
|
||
you may enjoy turning on your funny box with buttons on the side at
|
||
about 9:30pm Tuesday night, and turning the dial to '2', to watch the
|
||
new series of ***THE BIG GIG***
|
||
|
||
BOGOGRAPHY:
|
||
If you haven't enjoyed reading this file, then you can bog off.
|
||
|
||
FILOGRAPHY:
|
||
If you've enjoyed reading this file, the you may enjoy reading the
|
||
story of ROCKET ROGER. Just mail a lunatic called "The Mad Scribe
|
||
at rocketroger@gnu.ai.mit.edu notifying him that he is a complete
|
||
telephone box, and including your account number. Many abusive
|
||
comments... no sorry, many funny letters arranged in amusing
|
||
combinations will then be forthcoming. Was that okay, Mr Scribe sir?
|
||
|
||
______________________________________________________________________________
|
||
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Get down and get depressed! Its
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||
__ __ __ __
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||
\ he \ oxic \ ustard \\\orkshop \_iles <----Pathetic-+
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\ \ \_ \-\ \ |
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||
Part Four 29/8/90 |
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||
Written by Mr. Luxury-Yacht |
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||
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - | - -
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|
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Adam Cohen was depressed. Not just depressed, injured. He had |
|
||
gone to his Maths Class, had been kicked out, ordered to muck out the |
|
||
school principal's office, and been injured, when a large deposit of |
|
||
bullshit, which had just come out of the principal's mouth, had |
|
||
landed on him, not only causing him to smell as badly as a computer |
|
||
programmer, but also breaking his leg. But what really pissed him off |
|
||
was the miniscule titles that were now being drawn by the author.-------+
|
||
Adam had become even more depressed when he had sat down to use
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||
his IBM-PC in the small cave with striped wallpaper that he lived it.
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||
He had bought the cave at an auction, under a government cave-buying
|
||
scheme. Fact is, the only things that would fit into the cave were
|
||
Adam, his pet IBM-PC, and the stray mongoose that provided the
|
||
electricity. This is what happened when Adam used his computer.
|
||
C:\> dir
|
||
CONFIRM FORMAT C: (Y/N)? n
|
||
OKAY, FORMATTING C: no no no
|
||
CONFIRM FORMAT C: (Y/N)? n
|
||
OKAY, FORMATTING C:. PRESS ESC TO ABORT.
|
||
esc esc esc!
|
||
CONFIRM FORMAT C: (Y/N)? n
|
||
OKAY, FORMATTING C:
|
||
esc esc esc esc!
|
||
YOU'VE HAD YOUR CHANCE SUCKER.
|
||
WIPING F.A.T.
|
||
esc esc esc esc!!
|
||
TOO LATE NOW. HAHAHAHA FORMATTING...
|
||
|
||
Adam by this point as depressed as a man who had been shot by a
|
||
Fascist regime for liking the colour green. So, the mongoose
|
||
suggested that he visit a psychiatrist. The first visit had been
|
||
reasonably successful, despite the psychiatrist asking deep
|
||
penetrating questions about his relationship with a local tree.
|
||
It was time for the second visit...
|
||
|
||
- AH, MY BOY, SO YOU ARE BACK AGAIN FOR YOUR DIAGNOSIS. COME IN, COME IN.
|
||
- Well, the thing is that I spoke to another doctor.
|
||
- VOT DO ZAY KNOW, MY BOY. ZAY HAVE NOT THE EXPERIENCE IN CLINICAL
|
||
PSYCHOLOGY ZAT I DO! I GOT HD FOR PSY192! NOW! TO YOUR DIAGNOSIS.
|
||
- Um, actually I don't think I...
|
||
- NOW, YOU HAVE BIG PROBLEMS MY BOY. BIG BIG BIG BIG PROBLEMS.
|
||
- Yes I know, I've got a broken leg, and I can't walk properly.
|
||
- NO NO NO, MY BOY. I HAVE BEEN INVESTIGATING YOUR SUBCONCIOUS, AND I HAVE
|
||
COME TO THE CONCLUSION THAT YOU HAD A REPRESSED CHILDHOOD. BUT MORE
|
||
SIGNIFICANT THAN THAT, YOUR BROKEN LEG IS CAUSED BY SEVERE SEXUAL
|
||
PROBLEMS.
|
||
- What?
|
||
- A COMBINATION OF CHILDHOOD EXPERIENCE, PSYCHO-SEMITIC DISORDERS AND A
|
||
GUILT FEELING IN YOUR SUBCONCIOUS HAS CAUSED YOUR LEG TO REJECT THE
|
||
LEADERSHIP OF YOUR BRAIN, AND ATTEMPT SUICIDE, THUS, BREAKING ITSELF.
|
||
- You're not serious.
|
||
- MY BOY, ZIS IS VERY SERIOUS! I HAVE CONSULTED PAST CASE BOOKS, AND HAVE
|
||
COME TO THE CONCLUSION THAT MUCH OF YOUR BRAIN IS CONVINCED THAT YOU
|
||
ARE TURNING INTO A FROG.
|
||
- Rebbit.
|
||
- ON ZE OTHER HAND, I COULD BE WRONG...
|
||
|
||
(The preview of next installment courtesy of Reich-Nazi Pty Ltd).
|
||
|
||
VOT WILL HAPPEN TO THE INFERIOR JEWISH SCUM ADAM COHEN?
|
||
VILL HE BE SWEPT ASIDE BY THE GLORIOUS GERMAN ARMY INVADING
|
||
THE PSYCHIATRIST'S OFFICE? VILL THE BRILLIANT ARYAN MIND OF
|
||
DR.FROGENSTEINBERG BE PUT TO WORK ON A GLORIOUS NEW
|
||
WEAPON FOR THE REICH TO BLAST ZE SCHWEINHUND ALLIED FORCES?
|
||
YES, IF WE HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH THE NEXT VUNDERBAR
|
||
EDITION OF 'ZE TOXIC CUSTARD WORKSHOP FILES!' SEIG HEIL.
|
||
|
||
OH DEAR. WELL, IF WE MANAGE TO REPEL THE GERMAN ARMY, WHO ARE CURRENTLY
|
||
BATTERING DOWN THE DOOR WITH A LARGE KNOPFWURST SAUSAGE, PART FIVE WILL BE OUT
|
||
ON MONDAY 3RD SEPTEMBER.
|
||
|
||
YOU TWISTED MINDS WHO HAVE ENJOYED THIS DRIVEL MAY ENJOY THE AMAZINGLY
|
||
BORING STORY OF ROCKET ROGER.
|
||
Just send some mail to the Mad Scribe at rocketroger@gnu.ai.mit.edu,
|
||
notifying him that he is a complete extension cord, and including
|
||
your account number. Many words arranged in amusing combinations will
|
||
then be forthcoming. Was that vunderbar, Mr Scribe sir?
|
||
|
||
_______________________________________________________________________________
|
||
|
||
To subscribe to the Toxic Custard Workshop Files, mail tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu
|
||
|
||
--
|
||
Copyright (c) 1991 Daniel Bowen
|
||
May be copied or reproduced without permission
|
||
provided this notice remains intact.
|
||
--
|
||
Daniel Francis Bowen | Remember - jumpers are
|
||
Monash University, Melbourne, Australia | clothing's way of telling
|
||
----THE TOXIC-CUSTARD-WORKSHOP-FILES-----| you to pull over...
|
||
tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu | [Toxic Custard Workshop]
|